Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2007 22:05:33 -0800 (PST)
From: Daniel Miller
Subject: The Barbarian and the Boy, ch 3
This is a fictional story. The characters and events described herein are
fictitious. The story and it's contents are the sole property of the
author. It has been posted on the Nifty Story Archives page with the
permission of the author. If you are offended by sex or sexual acts
between two consenting males, or by a relationship between an older man and
a significantly younger one please do not read any further. For the rest
of you who don't need this read on and enjoy. Let me know what you think.
Copyright 2006
Chapter III
They'd been here. The remains of a small and cleverly built and
hidden fire and a small pile of discarded animal bones confirmed that
someone had stayed here. From the looks of the matted grass there was a
struggle of some fashion. The nature of it he could only guess at, but his
quarry was no longer alone. There were two distinct sets of prints leaving
the campsite, one set were those of his quarry, deep depressions in the
softer portions of the earth, and another set that belonged to someone much
lighter.
He smiled, a cold, cruel, wicked thing to behold, without humor or
mirth, the smile of a predator that has just caught a whiff. His dark,
steel eyes glittered in the quickly falling dusk, he felt his blood
quickening, a small thrill running through him. Little else brought him
such joy, such a feeling of life coursing through his veins, as the thrill
of the hunt. And this was possibly the deadliest quarry he had ever been
set upon. This was like hunting a predator itself. Him and his company of
fifty men could very well be slain to the man in pursuit of this particular
'beast', but then what was the hunt without at least some risk involved?
In fact, what better way to sweeten the taste of victory, of the kill, or
even the capture, if there is something to lose.
He smiled, more a baring of teeth than something meant to convey
joy. The scar running down the length of his face, neck and beyond,
disappearing underneath the leather and metal of his breast plate throbbed.
It always did when he felt he was close, and any evidence of his quarry's
passage in his mind brought him one more step closer.
This campsite was no more than four, maybe five days old. It had
taken some time to sort things out after the barbarians had at last fallen.
They had fought ferociously, none more so than his quarry. But in the end
they had succumbed. When it was discovered that his quarry was not among
the fallen, wounded or captured he had been immediately dispatched. He had
asked for at least a hundred of the best swords they had. His commanding
officers had scoffed, stating that no man needed such efforts to be hunted.
They didn't take the folk lore surrounding this figure seriously, he did.
It was not something he concerned himself with however, it just
made things all the more interesting, all the more challenging. He had not
got as far as he had because he had played it safe, quite the contrary in
fact. Safety and sanctuary were foreign concepts to him, he had never know
either in his life, not in the arena of battle or the station he now
fulfilled as a commander in the militia. It always seemed to him that
politicians had no more understanding of, nor cared to have any, battle in
any form but with words. He had more than once found himself in the middle
of a power struggle between two men vying for the control of the
government. Such intangible displays of force and might, whoever controls
what portion of the unthinking, unfeeling populace at the time, were
fleeting at best in his opinion; Less than insubstantial, it was might made
up of vanity, nonexistent.
"Commander Remeaus, your orders sir?" A significantly younger
officer addressed him from a short distance. Despite his apparent youth
the man serving as Remeaus' second in command was an adept soldier, even if
he held somewhat idealistic and altruistic views. It mattered little to
Remeaus what views his lieutenant held, so long as the job was deftly done,
and Baraethius always performed deftly.
"We make camp here for the night, and we break at first light,"
Remeaus stated with the of one accustomed to authority. As his commander
turned to go Remeaus had a thought. "And Baraethius,"the lieutenant
stopped mid-stride as he was turning to carry out the commander's orders,
"I request that tonight that you tend to my leisure in my tent tonight. If
you would be so kind," it was not a request, and his lieutenant knew it.
In the army it was common practice that the soldiers would 'pair'
off. Such intimate attachments were allowed and even encouraged by the
commanding officers. It was the belief that such attachments made for
stronger bonds out in the field of battle. The politicians and the
generals that were too long out of the field jokingly referred to this as
their veritable 'army of lovers'. Remeaus never did laugh at such notions.
He knew that the underworlds had no furry like a lover's wrath.
The commanding officer of any body of soldiers had the exclusive
privilege of requesting that any one of the men under his direct command
'attend' the commander for a night, so as to strengthen the bond between an
officer and his men. It was always a request, but few lower ranking men
dared to refuse, thus possibly earning the ire of a superior officer. It
was one of the few other entertainments left to the commander, something to
tide him over till he captured his beast. He always did love a challenge,
and in Baraethius he had found one he had yet to conquer.
"Of course, sir," the lieutenant said without hesitation or
expression and dismissed himself. As brilliant a soldier and as talented
an officer as Baraethius was Remeaus considered his lieutenant's sentiments
to be more of a burden than an advantage. The man had yet to break under
Remeaus' tender mercies, but he did enjoy a challenge and had no qualms
with with waiting for victory on that front. Some men screamed for him to
stop, whilst other screamed for him not to. Baraethius had yet to scream
either way. Remeaus did so enjoy a challenge.
He surveyed the day's old campsite. Yes, it would be quite a
thrill to capture this 'beast', quite a thrill indeed. He smiled, and his
face turned faerel. It was a smile and a face that crowds had cheered for,
particularly on the day he had received his scar.
"I have your sent now beast," he murmured almost dreamily to
himself as he walked away from the dell, "run where you may, to the ends of
the earth if it so please you. But now the hound hunts you, and sooner or
later I'll catch you, then we will truly see who the real beast is."
Again he smiled. He now turned his thoughts to more pressing and
immediate matters, and to the imminent and enjoyable entertainment he had
to look forward to this coming evening. He did so enjoy a challenge.
* * * * *
Kreshtar opened his eyes, awareness coming to him in an instant and
sleep departing like a vanquished foe. By the light in the sky the sun had
yet to rise but he had beaten it by mere minutes at best. He breathed a
sigh of relief, after his late awakening yesterday this was much more like
it.
Kreshtar took a brief stock of his surroundings. The camp fire lay
cold and the pig on its spit looked undisturbed. Everything appeared to be
in order and a tension he was barely aware of eased a degree or two.
His attention turned to the comforting weight and warmth on top of
him. Tristan must have climbed up on him during the night. He slept
peacefully at the moment, breathing and snoring gently. His head rested on
Kreshtar's bare chest while the rest of his body insinuated itself against
Kreshtar's in a long and luxurious line.
As he wrapped his massive arms around the lean body on top of him
Kreshtar felt nearly overcome with a wave of awe. Tristan did something to
him, for him. Where once there was only violence and the thrill of battle
there was now also a tenderness and tranquility that had not been there
before.
Kreshtar ran his hands in slow, smooth circles on Tristan's back.
Tristan moaned softly in his sleep and moved unconsciously into the caress.
The gods had never created such a wonder as this before. Kreshtar knew
they ought to leave, but he was finding moments like this startlingly
precious. In such a short time this young man had become his everything,
he had no words to describe how he truly felt. Everything he could think
of fell either just shy or completely missed the mark altogether.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back down, basking in the
warmth of Tristan's body against his own in the midst of the chill spring
morning. He started humming softly, still running his hands in slow,
soothing circles on Tristan's back. The melody was one that had come
unbidden to him, something he had not heard since the all too distant days
of his childhood. He could not remember who had hummed the tune to him,
just like he could not remember so many other things from back then. But
at that moment, and most of the time for that matter, it was unimportant.
"That's a very pretty tune," Tristan mumbled lazily.
"Did i wake you? Or were you just dozing on me?" Kreshtar chided
with mock severity, ruined by his soft smile.
"Mm..hm, you woke me," Tristan's mouth split in a wide yawn
emphasizing the point. "But as far as wake ups go this has probably been
the best one I've had by far," he smiled up from Kreshtar's chest with that
impossible combination of imp and innocence, a smile that Kreshtar
treasured now above all else.
Tristan closed his eyes and gave a contented sigh, which Kreshtar
answered with one of his own.
"Kreshtar?"
"Hmm?"
"Do we have to go right now?"
"We should leave soon," Kreshtar said. "I won't be truly at ease
till we put some distance between us and the legions," Tristan's face fell
a little at that, but Kreshtar went on. "But we can stay as we are for a
few more minutes. There will always be time for this." Kreshtar murmured
softly, wrapping his arms around Tristan. They stayed that way for a while
longer in contented silence till the very first rays of the sun started to
grace the tops of the trees, listening to the sounds of the forest.
At length it was time to depart. Tristan raised himself up on his
hands to stand then thought better for a moment. He leaned his face down
to Kreshtar's and pressed their lips together. As far as kisses went it
was down right chaste, but Kreshtar melted from the lips downwards.
Tristan refrained from letting himself get too carried away, he didn't
think that he would be able to stop if he went to far. Even the gentle but
firm brush and press of lips seemed overwhelming. At the back of
Kreshtar's mind he thought that it was lucky that Tristan did not take this
further, he didn't think he would be able to stop if things progressed
beyond this.
Tristan pulled away, smiling down at the man underneath him and
stood up. Kreshtar pushed himself off the ground and they both went about
gathering their things.
As they both girded their loincloths back about themselves Kreshtar
noticed something that had not caught his attention before. Tristan's
loincloth hung oddly. With all the intimate moments they'd shared Kreshtar
was surprised that he hadn't noticed it before.
Tristan noticed where Kreshtar's attention was drawn and gave the
larger man a big-eyed innocent look that Kreshtar wasn't buying for a
minute. Cat's that frequently snacked on canaries looked more innocent
than this boy.
Tristan's face split in mischievous grin.
"Here," he gestured, "let me see your knife." he removed his
loincloth and settled it across his lap. Kreshtar surrendered his knife
and watched as Tristan skillfully went to work. The boy started
meticulously picking out stitches that had been very cleverly hidden in the
small piece of hide. As he progressed small little coins dropped out of
tiny pockets hidden on the inside of the loincloth.
Kreshtar was dumbfounded. The pile of coins next to Tristan
continued to grow and still the boy made no sign of finishing. By the time
Tristan did finish the task of removing the coins from his loincloth and
replaced it about his waist the sun was well up into the sky, not so much
that Kreshtar was worried but enough that they needed to be off.
"Twenty seven pieces in all," Tristan boasted proudly. "Think you
can fit them in your pouch?"
"Where in the name of the gods did you get such as sum?" Kreshtar
was still a little awestruck. The pile of gold pieces was certainly not
the largest sum of money that he had ever seen, but it was nothing to be
laughed at either.
"I told you that my mother was the village healer," Tristan stated
as if it should be obvious. "She was very good at her profession and had
quite a sum stowed away.
"When we first started hearing about the soldiers my mother
insisted that we be ready to leave at a moments notice. This particular
measure was but one thing we did to prepare.
"The soldiers themselves though came on us quite suddenly. We had
heard nothing about them for a few days when they finally fell upon us.
"I...I barely had enough time to hide myself when the soldiers
barged in. My mother hadn't been able to hide.
"It...it was...hours...before they...before they were done
with...her." Tristan looked as though the sorrow and agony and despair
once again threatened to overwhelm him. He took a deep, shuddering breath
and closed his eyes against the pain for a moment to steady himself.
"When they were finished they just left, they didn't even bother to
loot for anything. I guess they had already gotten what they had come for.
I came out from where I was hiding and went over to her. It had taken her
a long time and a lot of abuse from the soldiers before she had stopped
screaming. She wasn't moving now, or breathing, and I think that there was
blood trickling down her leg.
"Her eyes...her eyes just had a dull, glossy look to them.
"I wasn't able to stay there long. I didn't even get a chance to
say goodbye. The soldiers started taking torches to all the homes and I
had to run. I had no chance to grab anything, I only took with me what I
had on which is what I have right now." Tristan finally ended his tale.
Kreshtar hadn't wanted to stop the boy, Tristan obviously needed to talk
about it. But they needed to be gone, and now.
"Tristan," Kreshtar knelt down to Tristan's level, taking the boy
gently by the shoulders, "I've no wish to make your suffering less. What
you witnessed was man at his worst. When we have the time I would like to
help you grieve, for I have lost things to the armies as well, friends,
comrades. But for now we must still run. Come, we must not dally here any
longer." Kreshtar hugged Tristan to him. He dearly wished they could take
the time to mourn this properly, but now was not the time. He released
Tristan and they finished gathering up their things, the coins being stowed
in the pouch at Kreshtar's waist.
They ate a few slices off the pig and a few vegetables from the
stomach and then, placing the pole of the spit between the two of them, set
off. Kreshtar set a brisk pace, just shy of running. Tristan had regained
much of his own strength and was able to keep up for the most part.
They trekked to the south west, sticking close to and following the
river. At mid-day they halted and ate a little more of the pig.
The two ate in silence. Tristan lost in his own thoughts and
Kreshtar not wanting to press the boy harder or try to force him to open up
again.
They started up again, Tristan with out complaint and Kreshtar
without comment. They continued on in the same fashion. At length they
found a quiet glade in the late afternoon, early evening. With the setting
sun ever more westward in the sky Kreshtar decided that they should make
camp for the night. With the better portion of the pig still left Kreshtar
did not need to hunt for that evening so he helped Tristan gather wood.
While Kreshtar gathered more fuel for the fire he watched Tristan
go about the tasks of starting the fire and setting up the pig to be
recooked. The boy was relentless, going about with a single-mindedness and
and a focus that Kreshtar had only seen in a select few. All of those men
were either dead after having lead long, bloody lives, or had so many scars
that they had lost count of them.
Kreshtar counted himself amongst those men, dealers of death all of
them. Kreshtar classed himself amongst these but, truth be told, most of
them put him in a class above themselves. Tristan, it seemed, had the
potential for it. But there was something in Kreshtar that was reluctant
to instruct Tristan in the art of death. If Tristan asked Kreshtar knew
the he could not say no to him, but Kreshtar would not suggest the matter
to Tristan. No, better to let the boy, the young man, pursue the course
that life had already steered him down, the life of a healer.
Kreshtar felt a stab of momentary irony. Here he was, the man who
courted death and steel as lovers, at least according to rumor, brought low
by the son of a healer. The irony appealed to Kreshtar, so much so that he
could help but smirk as he watched Tristan finish up.
Tristan looked up to see Kreshtar looking horribly amused at
something and wearing a smirk that was about two steps away from what his
father would have called a shit-eatin' grin. The humor behind Kreshtar's
smile though was infectious, and the look in his eyes a friendly and
bemused one. Tristan could not help but burst out laughing.
"What," Tristan gasped between fits of laughter. "What are you
grinning at?" it was a relief to Kreshtar to hear that laugh again. In
response to Tristan Kreshtar only shook his head.
"Nothing," he denied, still wearing that smirk. "Listen, since I
don't have to hunt for our meal why don't we go down to the river while the
pig heats back up. I know you got a chance to wash yesterday but i haven't
washed since the battle and I think I'm about due."
Tristan flashed his signature smile, the one that said he was
thinking of some very naughty things indeed but still had just a touch of
innocence to it, despite everything. He took off for the river forcing
Kreshtar to pursue. As Tristan ran for the water's edge he deftly undid
the clasp of his loincloth and let it drop to the ground. Kreshtar
followed suit, splashing into the water an instant after Tristan.
They swam in the water, romping about as only grown men and growing
young men can. Tristan would climb all over Kreshtar as though he were a
village climbing tree, hanging off of Kreshtar's arms, neck and shoulders.
Kreshtar would pick Tristan up and throw him as high as he could. He
seemed to manage about a good five or six feet between Tristan's lowest
extremities and the surface of the water. And, of course, what romp in the
river would be complete without an all-out splash fight? Kreshtar would
bring his arms together or make a sweeping gesture with both sending up
near-tidal wave sheets of water. Tristan made short, strategically placed
shots that almost always seemed to find their mark.
Things finally started to settle down after a while, the sun
starting to sink below the horizon. Tristan and Kreshtar finally settled
down to the task of actually washing. The dirt and grime would not
completely wash away, they would need soap for that, but it was still a
relief to have the sweat and what little blood may have been left from the
battle washed away from Kreshtar.
The bandages on Kreshtar's body, not in great shape to begin with after the
swim the previous day, had fallen off and floated away. Tristan took the
time to inspect the wounds.
"Looks like a couple of these can be left to the open air. But the
wound on the back of your arm needs to be redressed," Tristan finished with
a look of finality.
"Well then," Kreshtar gave in, "you're the healer."
"Not when compared with my mother." Tristan's eyes got down cast
as he remembered a myriad of things. "She was talented, even amongst those
who had a true gift for it. When people could get no help from the so
called physicians in the walled cities to the south they would come to her,
most of them with no other hope left. She wasn't able to heal every person
who came across her way, but it seemed close to it.
"We," Tristan's voice took on a surprisingly bitter and cynical
cast, "we even had some trouble because of it a number of times. There
were some who accused her of witchcraft. They said that here ability to
heal had to be magic or some such nonsense.
"No one in the village actually said such things, they knew her too
well. And they were usually able to deter and discourage any would be
trouble makers.
" I guess maybe that's why the soldiers did what they did. They
certainly they certainly could have heard any number of stories from
anywhere along the way from where they marched from." Tristan fell silent
again, lost in his own thoughts.
"Come here," Kreshtar said softly, taking Tristan by the hand. He
led Tristan back up to the shallows of the river, where the water came up
to about his knees. He sat down in the smooth sand and flowing water
facing out towards the opposite bank. Kreshtar pulled Tristan down to him,
sitting the young man between his massive legs an folding the boy in the
circle of his powerful arms. Tristan leaned back into Kreshtar, his head
resting in the hollow of Kreshtar's neck, his gaze following Kreshtar's
across the river.
Kreshtar felt his manhood stir at having Tristan nestled right up
against him, yet oddly enough he was not compelled to do anything about it.
They sat together in the shallows for a short time, the river gently
lapping around them, the last rays of the dying sun setting the sky a flame
like a phoenix in the throws of it's rebirth. The press of darkness rushed
in at them from all directions and the sounds of night and the babble of
the river surrounded them. Like a distant thought Kreshtar could hear the
crack of the small fire at their camp.
"Kreshtar?" Tristan's voice, unsteady, broke the silence.
"Yes?" Kreshtar answered back softly.
"Before... before our paths crossed, that couple of weeks when I
wandered about trying to find some place that had not been ravaged by the
soldiers, I felt... I felt like things were as they should be. Everyone
that I had ever known had been slain, every village and town raided and
razed to the ground. During that time I even wondered why I didn't just
slip quietly into the waiting arms of death.
"Now, since I have started traveling with you, I find that the pain
and despair I felt is less. The wounds like so many I've seen before in my
life seem to be healing over. I feel like I have no right to be happy
without them, without her. I'm not sure I can reconcile the fact that I
miss everyone less and less every day I am with you."
Tristan fell silent and the only noise was the hush of the night
encroaching around them.
"It seems wrong doesn't it?" Kreshtar finally responded. "By all
rights you feel that time should stop, life should take a breath, and the
stars in their spheres should pause in their heavenly courses, even if for
but a moment. It's only fair, after such pain, that we should get to
indulge our pain, our sorrow. After all we've been through we deserve at
least that one moment.
"But that is not the way things work. Life does not stop. If it
stopped for us then it would have to stop for everyone who has ever lost
someone, and it would never start back up again afterwards.
"Life and the world are impartial, not because there is no caring
in them, I do not think that is the case. Life moves on to force us to
stand up and move with it or be trodden under foot. In the end the choice
is all up to us.
"It seems to me that you have already made your choice, to continue
on in the face of and in spite of everything that you have been through.
For which I am truly glad.
"I've seen men fully grown, battle hardened and stone hearted have
to go through something akin to what you have been through. Most of them
don't walk away from it, they never recover. And those that do will
invariably carry the scars with them for the rest of their lives.
"The more I hear of what happened with your village the more I'm
inclined to say that those men have only been through a fraction of what
you have experienced.
"I"m not going to say that you shouldn't feel sad over the losses
you have suffered becoming easier to bear, it seems to me that that is
somewhat natural. But find some strength in the fact that you can move on
after all of that, that you can stand again. There is no small supply of
courage in your heart Tristan, it will see you through any of the dark
times in your life."
The full dark of night had finally fallen upon them and the air
began to grow chill. Tristan stood, Kreshtar rising after him. He put his
arm around Tristan's shoulders, Tristan slipping his arm around Kreshtar's
waist. Together they made their way back to the fire, collecting their
discarded loincloths as they walked.
By that point the fire had died down to scattered coals. Kreshtar
threw the las log on the bed of coals sending up a small shower of sparks.
He and Tristan huddled close toe the fire and each other, letting the
warmth from the coals dry the water from their skin. Tristan sat with his
head against Kreshtar's chest, Kreshtar's arm draped over the boy's
shoulders. They stayed there in silence for a time, listening to the
crackle of the coals.
"Kreshtar?" Tristan asked quietly.
"Yes?"
"What do you remember of your parents?" This was not an unexpected
question for Kreshtar, but it was one he had been hoping to avoid, he
simply didn't have a good answer for it.
"Not much I'm afraid," he heaved a great sigh. "In fact I remember
almost nothing. One of the few things that I can remember of my younger
years is that tune I was humming this morning. My parents might have
hummed it to me when I was younger, but I honestly could not tell you for
certain.
"I call the people of the wilderness my own simply because they are
the ones amongst whom I have dwelt for most of my life that I can remember.
I can claim no lineage from them though. I have spent all my life as a
wonderer and a vagabond. I learned enough to live off the land, but not
enough to settle down and work it. It is what my life has always been. I
owe allegiance to none, and have given it to none save battle.
"I was naked and battle girded me with clothing. I was hungry and
war fed me. I was lost and cold in the dead of darkest night and violence
and bloodshed sheltered me and kept me warm.
" I have heard at least some of the things that people have
whispered about me, it is not without very good reason that people say that
I am the paramour of death. I have never been anything else. I always go
where ever the battle is no matter how remote. So it seems to the people
that destruction and chaos follow in my wake.
"To them my appearance may very well be the herald of war. They
conveniently forget that I have saved villages as well as fought among
them. I am hailed as a savior and a destroyer both. In times of conflict
they are overjoyed to see me and wish me to tarry, for I am deliverance to
them. In times of peace I am whispered about fearfully and told to leave,
for they believe that conflict and strife follow on my heels, instead of
the other way around.
"I have never begrudged them their sentiments, for I know that when
all is said and done they are, only, just men. They are driven by fears,
superstitions, desires and passions as all men made of flesh and bone are.
Only but a handful I have come across, both in my travels and on the edge
of my sword, have rendered me the same respect and understanding."
Kreshtar fell silent, now lost in his own thoughts. The last long on the
fire blossomed with small new petals of flame, crackling in the breech.
"I'm so sorry," Tristan breathed at last. "I never knew. I guess
that no one has really ever known, have they?" He did not wait for an
answer. "I guess...I guess that I can even remember my mother, and what
little I can of my father, is something I should be grateful for. I think
maybe I took it for granted."
"It's understandable," Kreshtar whispered, "given your age.
"But come, I think we have had enough talk for now. The night
grows late and we must be up at first light again tomorrow morn. I'm still
not certain that we have out run anyone pursuing me and until I am I cannot
really rest easily."
Kreshtar stood, giving a hand up to Tristan. They made their way a
few feet from the fire to where Kreshtar's cloak and other affects were.
He laid in on the ground and lay on top of it. He held out a hand to
Tristan, beckoning the boy to him.
Tristan took Kreshtar's hand, sinking down into the warmth and
folding Kreshtar's body around his own. They lay as they had that first
night, what now seemed ages ago, with them both on their sides, Kreshtar's
arm through the hollow at Tristan's neck and shoulder and the res of his
body wrapped around the smaller frame in his arms.
Tristan turned his face up to Kreshtar's, Kreshtar looked down into
those big eyes. Eyes that were normally the color of honeyed mead had
seemed to drink in the color of the surrounding night glistened with the
light of stars and moon, like a fine dusting of diamond glitter strew into
two drowning pools of black. Tristan looked up into Kreshtar's eyes and
felt like he was falling upwards into the sky. The remnants of the night's
fire highlighted the lines of Kreshtar's face like a mountain range on the
horizon at sunset, dark shapes and looming forms painted with a line of
fading heat along their edges. The glorious blazing orb itself seemed to
have caught itself in his eyes, the dying light and fire burning forth with
one last tremendous effort and leaving with a promise of glory to yet again
with the returning of the dawn.
Kreshtar brought his face down to meet Tristan's, never taking his
eyes away. Tristan stretched his neck upwards to meet Kreshtar midway.
Their lips met, tremulously and delicately, with the faint caress of each
other's breath brushing across.
Kreshtar tightened his arms around Tristan, the one around
Tristan's neck and the other across Tristan's waist and hip, pulling the
smaller body almost imperceptibly deeper into Kreshtar's embrace. At the
same time Kreshtar began to kiss in earnest, leaving off delicacy and
gentility for passion. He tasted Tristan from the mouth, devouring lips,
mouth and tongue, savoring the faintly sweet flavor and the exquisitely
silken texture.
Tristan began to make helpless, muffled noises, surrendering to
Kreshtar's mouth consuming his. He was being devoured by the mouth and it
was bliss, sheer, indescribable bliss.
Kreshtar broke off the kiss, keeping his face pressed against
Tristan's. He was breathing heavily, winded, almost like he had spent
another day in the midst of heated battle.
"Tristan," he breathed, "I would desire nothing more right now than
to follow this to it's wonderful conclusion. But we really must get some
sleep. We are a far cry from being out of danger yet."
"I know," Tristan whispered against Kreshtar's face. "But you said
there would always be time for this."
Kreshtar smiled, both inwardly and outwardly.
"So I did indeed. Well then, by your command."
"Uh-uh," Tristan shook his head. "Never in command. Don't ever
let me command anything of you."
"By your wish then." Kreshtar corrected.
Kreshtar kissed Tristan again, full, deep, and passionate. Tristan
was the one to break the kiss this time.
"That's all I needed." He said with a satisfied expression on his
features. "To know that you are always willing to make time. I know we
are fleeing for our lives right now, so I don't mind." His signature smile
spread across his lips, "Tonight seems more like a night for holding. But
don't think you don't owe me though. And I plan to collect payment in full
my barbarian."
"Such a happy debt to fulfill." Kreshtar whispered back, Tristan's
mirth spreading contagiously. "I shall be glad to give back to you
one-hundred fold."
Kreshtar kissed the young man in his arms for one more time that
night, thoroughly. They both laid there heads back down, each heaving a
heavily contented sigh in turn. The sounds of the night lulled them into a
peaceful and easy slumber.
End Chapter III